


Inevitable/Impulse

by helens78



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Rough Sex, improvised lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-09
Updated: 2006-05-09
Packaged: 2017-10-05 20:06:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>MacLeod knows what Methos is doing in the shower; Methos realizes, while he's in there, what Mac is up to in bed.  It might be impulsive, or it might just have been inevitable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inevitable/Impulse

MacLeod wakes up to the sound of the shower running. Good; Methos is up already. Sometimes dragging him off that couch is like pulling teeth -- and _not_ with twentieth-century dental tools, either.

He looks around and grabs his pyjama bottoms off the floor, stepping into them, finding a discarded t-shirt and pulling that on over his head, too. He's not usually this modest, but lately... lately it's been difficult having Methos around. Lately he hasn't wanted to look for too long, or take the risk that Methos might be doing the same.

_Risk._ That's what it is, having Methos here in his home. Taking a risk. But Methos seems like the sort of man who hasn't had anyone take risks for him in far too long, and MacLeod thinks friendship could be good for him.

He's halfway to the kitchen to start coffee when he trips over something. It's Methos's duffel bag, which somehow didn't make it from the couch to the bathroom.

_That's inconvenient_, MacLeod thinks, already imagining the puddles Methos is going to leave when he comes out to get dressed. He picks up the bag and heads into the bathroom with it, meaning to leave it just inside the door and make the coffee.

He stops when he lays eyes on Methos. Stops and just takes it in.

Methos is in the shower, head ducked under the spray. One forearm's braced against the tiles. His legs are spread. And he's jerking off.

MacLeod's skin starts tingling, and he ducks out of the door as fast as he can.

Presence is palpable sometimes, heavier some days than others. Methos's buzz wasn't particularly loud before Mac knew what he was up to, but now Mac can't get it out of his head.

He grinds beans for coffee, gets the filter set up, starts the machine going.

There's a steady incline to Methos's buzz. Mac knows exactly what it means, and wishes he didn't. This was all difficult enough before; now it's going to be excruciating.

_Get it over with. Do it yourself and you'll both feel better, and you can go on with your day._

He might as well; it's not as if he won't be able to tell when Methos comes. And then he'll have some grace time afterwards, while Methos finishes showering...

He heads back to bed and tugs his pyjama bottoms around his thighs, digging through his nightstand for some tissues. Setup's covered. _All right. Go ahead._

Hand around cock. A twist, a stroke... the usual. If he keeps up like this he'll come in under five minutes; it's been timed.

Only he doesn't keep going like that. He modulates, instead, gets himself all worked up with short, needy strokes that nearly rub his skin raw, and then waits.

If Methos is listening for Mac's buzz, he might realize it's at the same pitch as his own.

Mac's guessing Methos isn't that observant. And if he is, he'll probably never say.

Now Mac has to vary those strokes to keep himself from coming too fast. Loosening his grip for a few passes, then tightening and thrusting his hips up. Twisting instead of stroking. He closes his eyes and imagines Methos, still in the shower -- using up all the hot water, of course -- hand working his own cock hard. Probably using soap to keep things slick, and it probably stings, but that doesn't matter. The slippery glide is worth it.

_If I were there I'd--_ MacLeod tries to cut off the thought before he can finish it, but it's too late; his mind's already full of images, him behind Methos, opening him up and shoving in hard. If it's the first time, well, first times are supposed to be a little rough, and later Mac can take it easy. Right now, though, going easy would probably drive him out of his mind.

Now he's speeding up, and Methos's buzz is quick to keep the pace. Gods! He _is_ listening in. He's listening for Mac's presence and jerking off knowing, _knowing_ just what Mac's doing out here in bed.

_I should have stayed in there with you. I should have done this there. If I know and you know, then we might as well be--_

The shower cuts off. MacLeod makes a strangled noise and pulls his pajama bottoms up, turning over and wondering if he can pretend he's asleep. No. The coffee. _Shit._

Wet footsteps make slapping sounds across hardwood as Methos leaves the bathroom. Mac rolls onto his back again, and there's Methos, leaving puddles across the floor, dripping all over his bed, dripping all over _him_ as he climbs up and stretches himself across Mac's body.

"I'm going to freeze doing it out here this way," he says. "You couldn't have jumped me last night?"

"This isn't what I invited you to stay with me for--"

"Too bad. It's why I came."

MacLeod only has a moment to boggle at Methos before Methos's lips are on his. Methos does feel cold now -- all the heat from the water's been leached away by the ambient temperature, and Mac rolls him over, pins him down under rumpled covers and it _isn't_ just to keep him warm.

"I want--"

"Me, too." Methos struggles. "Okay, so we agree this isn't optimal, but neither one of us cares right now. Right?" He struggles a little more. "Get lube."

_Lube. Right._ MacLeod doesn't have anything on hand, but there's almond oil in the kitchen. He leans down and kisses Methos's throat, and then he's up and halfway across the room before Methos makes a startled noise and laughs. "You _are_ the old-fashioned type," he calls out, and it makes MacLeod laugh, too, but soon enough he's back in bed, pyjamas hastily stripped off, and he really doesn't care that the sheets are going to be ruined after this. He doesn't care at all.

The oil gets everywhere. It's impossible to be neat with it. It gets on the insides of Methos's thighs, spills over the sheets, and MacLeod's hand is soaked with it, but more importantly, he's managed to open Methos up -- two fingers and then three, twisting -- and he's rubbed his cock until it's slick, too. Methos reaches up and digs his fingernails into MacLeod's shoulders, which feels nothing like the way it does when it's Amanda's nails, and Mac can't wait anymore. He pushes Methos's legs up and shoves in, so slippery he misses the first time, but then he's in and it's like nothing he's felt in a long, long time.

"Oh," Methos says, and he looks like he wants to say more, so Mac struggles his way down and kisses him, hot and sloppy. It stops the neverending flow of words, which is good enough. And it feels damned good, which is better.

The buzz is so heavy now MacLeod's surprised they're not spraying little sparks across each other's skin. But no -- it's just sex and sweat and two men growling at each other, hot slap of skin on skin, and MacLeod biting just a little too hard when he gets close, hard enough Methos jerks back. MacLeod would apologize, but he can't -- can't hold back, either, and now he's coming hard, trying to brace himself against the mattress and failing thanks to his oil-slick hands, and he nearly falls on Methos but it doesn't matter, because Methos is coming, too.

Afterwards, they catch their breath, and MacLeod rolls off to the side, figuring it can't be comfortable for Methos having his legs wedged up that way.

He's right; Methos groans when he's able to stretch out. "That was..."

"Impulsive?" MacLeod fills in.

"I was going to say _inevitable_, but maybe that too." He sniffs. "What's that smell? Is that coffee?"

"I'll get it. I need to wash up anyway."

"You and me both. Maybe there's some hot water again by now."

MacLeod grunts. He's not so modest this time when he crosses the room, even though Methos has levered himself up on his elbows and is watching closely. He washes his hands off and pours two cups of coffee, sipping at one as he brings both back.

"If one of us had taken a head last night, we could maybe chalk it up to post-Quickening hormones," Methos says softly, taking a slow sip of his coffee. "You want to pretend that's all it was?"

"I don't like pretending anything," MacLeod fires back.

"Pity." Methos's tongue is right back in his cheek. "That'll limit our options somewhat."

"God -- be serious for two seconds, will you? This _happened_. It's going to change things."

"It might," Methos agrees. He puts his coffee down, then snatches MacLeod's out of his hands and puts it aside, too. "But we can worry about it later. C'mere."

MacLeod rolls his eyes -- _not fair, Methos_ \-- but he falls back into bed anyway.

_-end-_


End file.
